


Silver Linings

by crispy_scoliosis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ALL CHARACTERS AGED UP, AU, Alcohol, Angst, Drinking, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pls im such a slut for ushi, Reader-Insert, Romance, i will attempt angst, this is hard bye, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crispy_scoliosis/pseuds/crispy_scoliosis
Summary: in which unfortunate circumstances bring forth serendipitous occurences.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 130





	1. Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're all aged up here. AU where Ushijima is not only a pro athlete, but he's also a model :) among other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Named chapters are going to KILL me, I reckon. Watch me regret. Welcome to: Ushijima fanfiction!

_Life is like a shooting star; it never lasts long._

This is what runs through your mind as you stand amongst others in black and white, your tears running freely as you bring a hand up to quell the sounds of your cries. 

_Life is cruel in its fairness._

And yet it is kind, too. 

She _chose_ to die, after all.

You never really spoke to her as much as you should have in her times of need. Especially near the end, when exams started to pick up and you were unable to speak with her as much as you usually did. But then, the two of you never really spoke after graduating from highschool. 

"[Name]." The voice is unfamiliar to you. It pulls you from your thoughts and you look up to see a woman, a little past her fifties, if looks are anything to go by. Something about her is familiar, and when it sinks in, it clicks; she's Mitsuki's mother. 

You bow low, hastily wiping the tears from your eyes. You don't know why, but in front of this woman, you feel the need to look strong. Especially considering since, well, she looks as though she wants to break down. She reminds you very vaguely of a glass, placed at the end of a table in a precarious manner, ready to fall over at any given moment, with or without a subtle push. When you stand, her gaze is still on you as a sad smile curls at her lips. 

"Mitsuki told me a lot about you," she finally says, walking forward. You blink, and the guilt sets in further. 

_"Hey, [Name], can we talk for a bit?" The text is sudden, but you're so tired from studying that all you want to be is left alone._

**_"Sorry, Mitsu, I'm a little tired. We can talk later if you want."_ **

_"Oh no, it's fine. Make sure to get your rest!"_

**_"Thanks. You too <3"_ **

And so many other instances flash by your mind. You were a terrible friend. You feel like you're a terrible person. To know now that Mitsuki might have spoken highly of you makes you feel even worse. You kind of want to puke.

"Nothing bad, I hope," you finally say, squeezing the words from your throat and hoping it doesn't sound like a croak. Mitsuki's mother chuckles, turns to stare at her now dead daughter's gravestone. 

"No. Not at all." Her voice is quiet, fragmented. You kind of feel the same. "She spoke of you often, you know. She was very fond of you."

As if you need more guilt. 

"She was a great friend." Bright. Smart. Wonderful. Sweet. Kind. Mitsuki was popular. She could have been friends with anyone, and yet she stuck with _you_ . And when she had needed you most, you hadn't even bothered to glance her way. "I'm sorry for what happened to her." _I'm sorry I was of no help to her._

_"[Name], I need to tell you something."_

You had never replied to that text until hours later. 

Mitsuki was your first friend in middle school. Your friendship only grew stronger when the both of you attended the same high school, but for some reason, after the both of you had graduated and gone your separate ways, the both of you drifted apart. Sure, the both of you texted often, but somewhere along the way, the spark she usually had in her started to dim. 

_And now the spark is forever gone._

"I wanted to ask you," Mitsuki's mother purses her lips now, her eyebrows furrowing. Her voice pulls you from your guilty reminiscing. Her hands clasp together and she takes a shaky breath before turning to you. "What was she like the day before she…" 

She doesn't say it, but the words hang in the air. Loud as day in the silence. 

_Killed herself._

You remember it a little too clearly. 

"She kept sending me texts," you finally relent. You can't bring yourself to touch your phone. All that's there are memories. Her texts. Your responses. It hangs on your shoulders, follows you around like a ghost. "Saying she loved me and whatnot. And then she started going on about what she loved in this life. And, I don't know what got into me—" the tears are rising "—I just started to brush her off. I don't know _why_ I did that—I _knew_ she wasn't being her usual self and I just started to act like I didn't _care_ and she caught onto that and I—oh my god I'm such a bad friend to Mitsuki, ma'am, and I'm so sorry because she doesn't deserve a friend like me who won't even listen to her rant about what she loves or who she loves or—"

You're cut off by the soft look in Mitsuki's mother's eyes. They're so kind, you think, as she reaches forward to place her hand on your shoulder. "I think," she finally says into the silence that hangs between the both of you. "That you're a wonderful person, [Name]."

"Why?" Your response is immediate. The tears are running freely now, and you struggle to wipe them away. You're sniffling and you're trembling and you don't want to be here right now and somehow the soft look that Mitsuki's mother is giving you makes you feel so much more _worse_ than you already do. The words ring in your head, repeating, like a broken player. _Mitsuki doesn't deserve someone as terrible as me._ Because you think it's the truth and that you're the worst person alive and—

"Because you know. You _know_ what you did. But it _isn't your fault_ , [Name]." Her words are soft. "And I suppose everyone tires sometimes. Even of those they love. You are _not_ at fault."

But you _are._ You could have said something, asked her something. But you didn't. 

You found out why she was going on about what she loved a little too late. 

"I could have _asked_ her what was going on," you say, anger seeping into your tone. Anger at nobody but yourself for being such a horrid friend. "I could have _said something_." 

Mitsuki's mother smiles at you now. It's broken and sharp like broken glass, but it's a smile nonetheless, and you wonder when it was _she_ who started to act strong in front of _you_ rather than the other way round. "What's done is done, [Name]. There is no way to turn back time."

Oh, how you wish there _is_.

**\--**

You… Don't really know where you're going, to be honest.

You'd called your friend—Yachi—in an attempt to let your sorrows flow out of you before they drowned you, to which she'd responded in a very… Well, _Yachi_ -like way, what with the worried fussing and such. Somewhere along the way, Shimizu got wind of your breakdown, and now everyone's heading over to a bar for a good drink.

Well, everyone being the three of you, that is. 

You're there a little faster than you anticipate, but when you make a move to pull out your phone, a force crashes into you from the back, knocking the breath out of you as you stumble forward. "[Name]!" The source exclaims. She grabs your shoulders to spin you around and your eyes meet with concerned, brown ones that are scanning your face in search of some semblance of your breakdown earlier, you suppose. Blonde hair is tied back and Yachi is as cute as always, even with that furrow between her brows as she looks you up and down. 

"How are you feeling?" She asks finally. 

"Like shit," is the first thing you say. You glance behind Yachi to meet cool grey. Shimizu comes up to stand next to Yachi, her otherwise neutral expression interrupted by the slight furrow of her brows. You feel like you're being babied, and, as much as you hate to admit it, you think maybe this kind of attention isn't so unwelcome. 

"Let's go in," Shimizu cuts into Yachi, who's opened her mouth in an attempt to start a sentence. The younger shuts her mouth quickly, a small pout gracing her features. Still, the three of you obediently make your way in. It isn't that Shimizu is being rude; it's just that the bar has started to fill with people. 

When the three of you have placed your orders and taken a seat, Yachi leans forward, clasping your hands in hers. "I'm sorry for what happened to Mitsuki," she says. 

You'd never attended Karasuno, but you _had_ managed a team during your high school years. Somewhere along the way you ran into these two girls and befriended them. They had never met Mitsuki, but at the time, you spoke of her often. 

_How times change_ , you think to yourself bitterly.

Your drinks land on the table with a loud _clink,_ yanking you from your thoughts. You clear your throat. 

"Shit happens," you sigh. 

"That's not what I meant," Yachi's reply is quick. When you look up, her gaze is still focused on you. Shimizu quietly sorts your drinks to their respective owners, but you can tell she's listening. She's the oldest of the three of you, and Yachi is the youngest. You're in the middle. 

"It wasn't your fault, [Name]," Yachi finally says. Her words are a whisper, but they cut through the din of the bar like a hot knife through butter. For a moment, you can't breathe. You're thinking of all the times you've rejected Mitsuki, turned her down when she needed to talk. You can't breathe. The guilt crashes back into you tenfold and you feel like you're drowning and you're thinking _but it is it_ is _my fault because I'm such a terrible person and I kept pushing her away and—_

"She's right, you know," Shimizu's calm, soft voice slices through your thoughts and you crash back into reality. The noise of the bar fills your ears and you're breathing again and your eyes meet with hers. "There were other things."

"But I could have _helped_ , Shimizu," you snap, unable to contain the rage you've been directing at yourself ever since you've received the news. Which was 10 days ago. "I could have fucking _listened_ to her. But I didn't! I _didn't._ I didn't even _bother_ to ask her what the _hell_ was wrong and _why_ she was being how she was! I just didn't fucking _bother._ Not _once_ did I do any of that! _Not once!_ " Your voice is getting louder and louder and people are turning their heads to stare, but you're really not in the mood to give a shit when you're too busy beating yourself up for the mistakes you've made. 

"[Name], listen," Yachi says finally. You realize your hand is still in hers when she squeezes. "Saying it was _all your fault_ is a big thing. It carries a lot of weight. It's _too much_ weight to put on your shoulders, and it's _too big_ of an assumption."

She's right. You _know_ she's right. But you can't help it when your thoughts wander into all the what-ifs, all the things that could have happened instead of _this._ This _wreck_. 

You don't reply. Instead, you take a sip from your drink. 

"[Name]," Shimizu finally says after minutes of agonising silence. "You can't say it's _all your fault_ when Mitsuki came to you asking for you to listen." Her tone is cautious, but the mention of Mitsuki already has you spiraling down the hole you've made for yourself. "She _clearly_ had things to talk about."

Another fact. You know. You fucking _know._ And you still can't get it out of your head how you could have changed the outcome of this disaster.

Even if it's a small possibility, you still can't cast it from your mind. 

You take another sip. From the way Yachi's eyeing your glass, you have a feeling she's pondering the idea of snatching it from your hands before you down it all in one go and get wasted. Probably isn't a good idea, especially here of all places. But you don't really feel like being rational when all you want to do is drown your sorrows away with alcohol. 

"We came here to _drink_ , didn't we?" You finally snap, tugging your hand free from Yachi's hold. She lets you. "I didn't ask for a therapy session in a fucking _bar_ of all places, guys. I agreed to this because I thought we were drinking, not…" You wave your hand dismissively. "Whatever _this_ is." 

Yachi and Shimizu exchange a look. You can't really tell since you can't see their eyes, but you see the fight leave Yachi's shoulders before she reaches over for her drink. 

Shimizu sighs. "I'll drive you guys home."

And then you're gone. 

**\--**

At one point, Shimizu takes Yachi to the restroom; that girl isn't really good with all this. She'd looked a little green before finally announcing that she needed a break, so now you're alone, idly drinking from your umpteenth glass as you wait for the duo to come back and keep you company. 

The bar's gotten louder as the night progresses. People are yelling at each other in mirth or rage, you can't be bothered to set them apart. 

"Congratulations on winning your match today!" You hear, followed by the slap of a hand against a solid back. You unintentionally turn your head, the loud sound attracting your attention. 

_Just a bunch of big athletes_ , is what you think before you turn back to your drink. Except some guy is sliding in to sit across from you while two others stand by the table, effectively caging you in.

_This day could_ **_not_ ** _get any better._

You are _so_ tired.

"Your hair's really nice, by the way," the guy across from you says, flashing you a smile that you think is supposed to come off as disarming in nature but only succeeds in giving off more creepy vibes. "And you're really pretty."

You force a smile. "Thanks."

"You alone?" He continues, as if his two friends aren't blocking the only way out for you. Where the _fuck_ are Shimizu and Yachi?

"My friends are at the restroom," you say, leaning back and feigning nonchalance. You're a little tipsy. 

"They girls, too?"

You don't respond. "Sir, could you tell your friends to move away? I'll give you guys the table. I need to get going anyway." You pick up your stuff. Shimizu had taken her own with her for her own safety reasons, but Yachi had left hers with you. And you were all a smart group of people, so instead of asking you to watch her shit for her, she handed them to you. So when you stand you're holding two bags instead of one. 

The guys close in on you and you inwardly heave a sigh. That being said, a ball of panic forms in your chest and you have to force it down, along with the fear that's slowly coming with it. "Sir. I need to _leave._ "

"Just sit with me a moment," the guy at the seat doesn't stand. His smile is lecherous. Your brain is setting off alarms in your head but you have no idea how you can get out of this mess. "I just want to have a drink with you, you follow?" 

_Then bring me somewhere and rape me, I reckon._

"Sir," you say again, louder now, hoping against hope that _someone_ will hear you and have the balls to step in for once. "I need to _leave._ " You're almost yelling now. 

They know, too. And they clearly don't like it. Their faces sour and one of the guys blocking your way roughly grabs you and shoves you into the booth. They're about to slide in with you and you're contemplating if kicking them where it hurts will make them back off when a figure comes to your table, tapping the surface of it. 

Dark, olive green eyes meet with yours and you can't breathe for a moment because this man, something about him, is literally breathtaking. He's so tall and built, he'd easily overpower any of the perverts around you right now. And he's fucking _gorgeous_. 

_He could be a pervert, too._

Ah, shit. 

And then, he speaks, his voice not unlike a rumble of thunder, so deep you almost feel its reverberations, somewhere you definitely shouldn't be feeling it. Especially not in this situation.

"She's with me."

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my tumblrs!  
> @crepisculum (hero x villain and otp prompts)  
> @big-oya-energy


	2. Waterworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> u cri

_"She's with me."_

_Sir, who_ the fuck _are you?_

The men around you scoff at the olive-eyed man that stands at the table. They don't buy his bluff, and yet, the male in question remains stoic. He says nothing, does nothing; if you hadn't known any better, he might well be a statue. His gaze stays on you, and you find that you can't look away. Something about him is familiar, but you don't really know _what_. Your face must be so flushed right now; whether it's from the alcohol or this fine specimen of a man who seems to be attempting to aid you, you aren't quite sure. 

"You? She said her friends were _girls_." The man sitting across from you rolls his eyes. "You're like, the furthest thing from a girl."

He doesn't respond, only withdraws his hand from the table and looks at you expectantly. You can't tell if it's an act or if he _actually expects you_ to go with him, but you can't help yourself when you clear your throat. "Actually," you begin. "He's right." You try to squeeze past the other two men, but to no avail. They won't step aside. 

"Dude, d'you think we're like, trying to kidnap her or something?" The man in your booth says. At this point you're both equally annoyed and panicking because your saviour has no way of proving them wrong and he might actually fall for the bluff. Especially considering, well, the person harassing you seems adept at lying. "I think you're misunderstanding something!" He spreads his hands. "She's _our_ friend, too, you know." He's switching gears now, trying to convince your saviour that they're your allies. 

Alas, he pays his words no mind. Instead, his gaze stays trained on yours before he speaks again, his voice monotonous and clipped. "She's with me."

"Sir, do you even know her _name?_ " Booth Man sighs, as if _Hot Guy_ is the one who's trying to kidnap you. 

"I'm _leaving_ with him," you finally say, again trying to push past the two brick walls blocking your way to freedom, and instead almost fall back into the booth. Seriously, did Yachi and Shimizu fall into the toilet bowl or something? 

_They could be making out, too._

_Ah…_ Fuck.

"Move." Hot Guy rumbles. The word is a crack of thunder condensed into a single command. For a brief moment, the brick walls begin to move, then pause in confusion. They're just about to step in when a firm grip closes around your arm and yanks you in a not-so-gentle way until you crash face first into a stone hard _chest_. Or well, somewhere there, because you're definitely not eye-level with it _._

_Jesus, how tall_ is _this guy?_

At least the grip is controlled. Firm but gentle. 

"Thank you," the man says, and this close you can practically _feel_ the vibrations coming from his chest as he speaks. You can't see his face, but before you can get a good look at him you're pulled away from the three seething creepy dudes. 

When you're a safe distance away, the man brings you a little further before he releases his grip on your arm and steps away from you, the absence of his warmth prominent despite the fact that you hadn't noticed the heat he radiated before. Olive-green eyes meet yours and despite the overall stoicness of his features, there _might_ be a tiny, _tiny_ hint of concern in the man's eyes as he stares down at you. But it's like trying to read a rock; you just _can't_. 

"Are you alright?" 

Well, if he didn't care, he wouldn't ask, right?

_I'm just glad he isn't another creep._

"I'm fine," you reply, attempting a smile. "Thanks for helping me." You don't really know what else to say, so you don't, instead tightening your grip on Yachi's bag. Yours is slung over your shoulder. You don't really want to go back there, but if Yachi and Shimizu do, they might end up running into those three perverts again and you don't really want to leave them alone. 

"My friends might go back there," you begin, turning back in the direction you'd been dragged away from. "I should at least warn them or something."

"Not safe." His tone is matter-of-fact and brusque. 

"But—"

"[Name]!" Gentle hands wrap around your arm and you turn around to meet with Yachi's worried eyes, followed shortly by Shimizu, who looks slightly breathless. You can't tell if it's because they might have rushed towards you after they spotted you or from their most recent (probable)make-out session, but judging from their dishevelled hair and wild eyes, you surmise it's probably a mix of both. 

"Are you alright?" Shimizu asks. You're beginning to realize just how many times you've heard this sort of question today. "We were going to step in, but we didn't know how to without having it end up with _all_ of us in the same situation…"

"I'm _fine,_ " you say for the umpteenth time. Then you gesture to your side at the man next to you. "He helped me out." 

Both stare at the male for a moment in stunned silence. 

Then he gives a small bow and murmurs a word bidding goodbye before he takes his leave. Yachi and Shimizu are still speechless, and when they turn back to you they're giving you an awed look. 

"What is it?" You finally ask, unable to contain your curiosity. "You guys look like you saw a ghost or something."

"[Name]!" Yachi snaps out of it first. "Do you know who that _was_?" 

You can only offer a shrug. Your mind is too addled and messy for you to even try and place where you've seen the man before, so you don't even bother. "He looks familiar. Probably cause he was sitting with a bunch of athletes at a table earlier…?" 

Well. You aren't _wrong_ , you realize. Maybe _that's_ why he's so painfully familiar. 

"Shimizu," Yachi says, turning to her girlfriend. "Is there any paparazzi outside right now?" 

"Don't jinx it, Yachi. This is the _last_ thing we need on the news." 

"Guys!" You finally snap. "Cut it out and spill already. I'm too tired and guilty to play mind games with you guys right now." 

The girls exchange a look.

"[Name]," Shimizu begins. "That was Ushijima Wakatoshi. One of Japan's top athletes and a renowned model."

Maybe it's the alcohol. All you can squeeze out is a small, deranged laugh before you're falling and the world is black.

**\--**

When you come to, you're not at home.

You shoot up in panic, your eyes wide as you try to get a hold on your bearings. When you've stopped panicking, your surroundings slowly click in your mind that you're in _Yachi's_ home, in her guest room. 

You feel disgusting. Your makeup is still on your face and your hair is oily and you haven't showered at all, but you need to know how long you've been out like a light, so you slide out of bed and tentatively open the door. 

Its hinges creak with the movement and you cringe inwardly. You can't even step out before Yachi is right in your face, her eyes wide. "You're awake!"

Your face contorts as you scrunch your nose up and meet her gaze. "Well, it's not like I'm _dead._ "

_Not like Mitsuki._

The guilt crashes in anew and you nearly groan from it; just the thought of death brings Mitsuki to your mind and you feel horrible all over again, which is saying something, because you woke up already feeling like shit. The silence hangs between the both of you for an agonising moment before you decide to break it. "How long was I out?"

Yachi snaps out of her daze. "Oh! Oh, um. Well, it's like ten in the morning now, so it's nothing bad. You don't have any classes today, right?" 

You shake your head. "No. I'm free." _Free to wallow in self-pity and self-loathing with a bunch of ice cream._

Is there a way you can stop thinking? 

"You should probably clean up," Yachi says, her words cutting through your thoughts that are just on the edge of spiraling downwards. "I put makeup remover and stuff in your room already, and a spare towel. You can wear my clothes for now, so don't worry about it! And then…" She purses her lips and looks away. "We can talk. I mean— _you_ can talk. If you want to. You don't have to, it's just, um. If you need a shoulder or an ear or whatever, I'm willing to give it to you. Is what I'm saying."

Oh, bless her and her pure little soul. You offer a smile, and it's genuine, albeit a little tired and groggy. "Sure." 

It takes you about an hour before you're ready, and you're wearing Yachi's oversized hoodie and jeans. When you make your way to the living room, she's sprawled on the couch with her head buried in her phone, brows scrunched together in concentration with her earphones plugged in. She doesn't notice you until you're right in front of her. 

"So—" she begins, taking out her earphones and hurriedly sitting up. 

You hold up a hand to interrupt her, shaking your head. "Before I break down in sorrow," you start, attempting to keep your tone light. "Let's talk about the fact that you guys were too busy making out to save me."

Yachi opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. But no sound escapes her lips. She sighs through her nose. "But I _did_ have to puke!" 

"Then why the _hell_ would you two make out _after_ that? That's just disgusting!"

"Shimizu gave me water! From her bag!"

"Why would she even—Yachi, that's _still_ disgusting!" 

"You were saved anyway, weren't you?" She retorts, crossing her arms as her lips jut out into a pout, averting her gaze as her cheeks and ears redden in embarrassment. "Besides! If Ushijima-san hadn't stepped in, we would have asked someone for help!" 

She pauses. Then her eyes snap over to you. "You _do_ know who Ushijima-san _is_ , right?" 

"I refuse to believe that that was _him_ and not some lookalike," you finally reply. 

The thought of meeting a world-class model and athlete in your drunken state, along with the fact that he had to _save_ you, is not something you think you can entertain without breaking down in humiliation. 

"Oh, it was him, alright," Yachi replies, looking away. "He was with his high school team. I think I saw Tendou-san with him, and Semi-san…" 

You hold up your hand. "Fine, fine, whatever. Let's forget it ever happened. I don't want people knowing I met _the_ Ushijima Wakatoshi while I was _drunk_ and _in need of saving_."

You don't mention that in your drunken state, you did not recognize him at first.

Yachi lets out a chuckle before hastily covering her mouth in an attempt to silence her amusement, but you can only bring yourself to roll your eyes and lean back against the couch. 

_Where do I start?_

Silence falls between the both of you. From the corner of your eye, you see Yachi shift her position so that she's facing you, but you do not do the same. Instead, you stare up at the ceiling, not quite ready to unbottle your feelings in one go.

"Mitsuki," you begin, and slowly, the first drop falls from your bottle of feelings. "She and I were very close before we left high school." 

You sit up straight, stare ahead. You can't bring yourself to meet Yachi's kind, warm eyes. "We were like, _inseparable._ We did everything together and we were the type that didn't need to text every day to be close, you know? We didn't even need to talk all the time, just be in each other's presence. Whenever one of us needed to scream or bawl our eyes out, we would be there for each other, and I don't know _what the fuck_ happened to all of that after graduation. I don't know."

The drop of emotion falls into a pool of grief and guilt, of sadness and self-loathing, and the pool begins to churn. It becomes a lake and the water levels and pressure are increasing and the dam holding it all back is beginning to weaken under the force of all your emotions. The first tear drops like the calm before the storm and you hurry to wipe it away. 

"We were _so fucking close_ , Yachi! We were like _siblings!_ I don't know what went wrong, I don't know why I shut her out, I don't _know_ why I did what I did. And I know you're going to say what everyone has been saying, that it's _not my fault_ , but fucking _hell,_ you don't _understand!_ I _know_ that, but I can't bring myself to _believe_ it."

You turn to face Yachi, who only stares at you. You whip your head around, unable to take the pity in her eyes. You don't know if you want pity or not, you just know you want it all to _stop_. 

"She _came_ to me asking for help," you begin, wiping at another tear. Then another. _And another_. Your voice cracks as you speak. "She _came_ to me asking for an ear to listen! And what did I do? I didn't bother! And what did I say? 'I'm sorry, I'm a little tired from all my exams right now' which, okay, it's _true_ , but not _once_ did I take time out of my day to consider her! I didn't! I _didn't_." The dam breaks and all your emotions crash into you anew, and you come undone from the force of the flood of raw guilt and grief and everything else. The tears are falling and you're sniffling and struggling to get a word in edgewise but there's just _so much you need to say_. 

"I—" a sob wracks your body and you have to take a moment "—I could have—could have _listened_ for once—" you wipe your tears away frantically, along with the snot falling from your nose "—and said something to let her know I wasn't ignoring—wasn't _ignoring_ her, so she could—so she could at least _know she's loved_ or something or—" a sniffle "—I don't _know_!" Something in you breaks and you lean forward to rest your elbows on your lap and bury your face in your hands. "Yachi, I don't _know_ , I don't know what I'm saying anymore or where this is going and I don't know what to _do_ with myself because I just feel—I feel like a _horrible_ person and I think I _am—_!"

"[Name]." Yachi's voice is soft. "I'm—"

"Don't say it!" You snap quickly. "Don't— _don't say it_. Don't say you're sorry. Just. _Don't_." 

After a few moments of silence from Yachi's part, you look up, vision blurry from your tears, only to see that Yachi's started to cry, too, and you don't know how it happens, but by the end of the morning, the both of you are hugging each other and bawling into each other's arms.

And maybe you _do_ feel a little better after all that. Just a little.

**\--**

A few days have passed since your breakdown with Yachi. You feel better, and in all honesty, it's scary. You don't feel like you _should_ be feeling better, but you are. You don't feel good about it. The fact that you're _kind of_ moving on from her death so quickly just feels _wrong_ to you. And you hate it.

_So much._

You've archived every single piece of chat history you have with Mitsuki, but you don't delete any of them. Sometimes, late at night, when you can't help it, you open the texts and cry all over again.

Okay, so maybe you _haven't_ really moved on, but you're definitely feeling less like shit. 

You're buying stuff at the grocery store, snacks that you can eat when you're stressed. Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pull it out.

**From: Literal Alien**

**Guess who's back in Japan!**

**From: Literal Alien**

**[Photo]**

Your eyes are wide before you hastily unlock your screen to open the chat. Vibrant, brown eyes meet you, a handsome face twisted into a boisterous smile with a tongue sticking out along with a peace sign positioned just beside his eye. His arm is wrapped around another male with spiky hair and an irate expression that fails to cover up the blush on his cheeks. 

_Oikawa._

And his boyfriend, from the looks of it. 

**To: Literal Alien**

**Where are you guys? I'm at 7/11 rn.**

**From: Literal Alien**

**We'll meet you back at your apartment in five!**

Great. Now you _have_ to rush. 

In your haste, you bump into a solid brick wall, and before you can fall on your butt, a hand stretches out to catch you by your wrist, pulling you up abruptly. It all happens so quickly, your brain catches up half a second later. 

"Oh!" You pull your hand back. "Oh, _shit_ , sorry. Are you okay? I should be more—" Olive-green eyes meet yours and your words die in your throat. 

_Seriously_?

"No problem."

_Ushijima Wakatoshi._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblrs:  
> @crepisculum (otp prompts, hero x villain)  
> @big-oya-energy
> 
> Also apologies, this chapter is a bit rushed ;;


	3. I Owe You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention here that the reason I decided to have Oikawa react the way he did to your statement later on in the chapter is because I believe he's grown and understood and acknowledged that there are people who are just better than him and that he has to work twice as hard. He understands that and he's doing just that, but he's not drowning in hatred for them and instead accepts it as a challenge that he'll overcome.  
> In the manga, when he meets with Hinata, he is still a somewhat the childish flippant teenager, but he's also nothing but happy and slightly spiteful as always. He's comfortable in his own skin and will continue to work twice as hard to be where he wants to be and so on and so forth. This is just my headcanon for adult Oikawa ^^

_You have_ got _to be kidding me._ Your mind reels in shock and you’re left to stand there alone with no words spilling out from your open mouth. 

Fate seems to love its games.

"I—um." You try to speak, but no words spill forth, and you end up closing your mouth shut. You don't know what you should do. Maybe you should thank him for the other night? Would he remember you? But this is so _awkward_. You feel like you could die. “Thanks,” you croak in an attempt to fake composure, stepping back from him, the absence of his warmth once more apparent despite the fact that you hadn’t noticed it before. The man’s a heater in disguise. 

He hums in response, bending downwards to help you pick up the things you’ve dropped. He hands them to you silently and somehow you’re still frozen in place. It’s as though Ushijima has a certain _presence_ , a gravity, that knocks the breath out of you and nails you in place. You stiffly accept the things he returns to you before you force a smile in an attempt to appear nonchalant.  
  


“Um,” you say. “Uh, I don’t know if you remember me, but thanks for helping me out the other night. At the club. With those three assholes.” Your hand finds its place at the nape of your neck. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in.” 

He stares at you for a moment. Then another. Then his gaze finds its place elsewhere. “It was no problem. You’re welcome.” 

Great. Now the _both_ of you are awkward, grumbling messes standing in the middle of an aisle in some grocery store. You clear your throat and shift your weight. 

_I can’t believe I’m about to do this_ , is the only thought in your mind as you hand the athlete/model your phone. He stares at it, no doubt confused, and only takes it when you flick your hand forward insistently. When he takes it, he’s looking at you, and there’s a question in his eyes that you answer shortly after.

“Um, I owe you, right?” You begin. “I know it’s not much compared to what you did the other day, but we could exchange phone numbers. Then you can call me whenever you need a favour, since, well, you kind of saved my life back there, one way or another.” You’re sort of rambling, but you don’t want him to think you’re hitting him up or something, though you know that that’s how this sounds to any outsider that might be listening in to your conversation(though there’s almost no one around right now). 

Ushijima’s form tenses at your words as he eyes your phone hesitantly. That’s when it actually dawns on you that he’s practically a celebrity and giving his phone number to some random stranger holds more gravity than it should. 

You sigh. “How about this?” You begin. “I can give you my number instead. You don’t have to give me yours if you don’t want to; it’s totally understandable considering your current position. You can call _me_ instead. I just thought exchanging numbers would be more efficient since I’d _know_ who was calling me.”

He seems to relax at that. He nods his head and pulls out his phone as he returns yours just as it vibrates. 

You cringe.

_Oikawa._

Thankfully, Ushijima knows better than to look at your notifications and instead hands his phone over to you. Your fingers graze and you nearly jump in surprise from the contact. His phone looks so small in his hands, but not when it reaches yours. You type in your number and your name. “Um, I forgot to properly introduce myself before, so. I’m [Name].” 

He takes his phone back silently, reading your contact before pocketing his phone. When he looks back at you, you’re surprised to see the ghost of a smile(albeit a small one) on his face. “I know.”

**\--**

“[Name]-chan!” Oikawa’s voice is as jovial as ever as he crushes you in a hug. You're overwhelmed by the big guy and you can barely squeeze in a laugh before he squeezes hard, effectively cutting off your air supply. 

"Oikawa!" You squeak, trying your best to push him away. "Oh my _god_ —dude, I can't—I _can't breathe_!" You squeal in an attempt to get him off of you. He only laughs in your ear, one that's loud and as carefree as ever, before he's violently yanked off of your form.

"You're going to kill her, you fucktard!" Iwaizumi snaps, glowering at his boyfriend, to which Oikawa merely shrugs as he sticks out his tongue. 

"Iwa-chan, are you _jealous_?" He teases, dancing around Iwaizumi. The latter only rolls his eyes in response before turning to you, giving you a hug of his own in a much looser way. He gives you a firm squeeze before letting go. 

"Long time no see, [Name]," he says, giving you a small smile before turning back to face Oikawa's pouting face. 

"That's not how you greeted _me_!" The brunette cries, throwing his arms around his now fumbling, sputtering boyfriend as you roll your eyes and unlock the door to your apartment. How you missed these two idiots. You've known these two for forever and, in the end, they're still the same two airheads pining for each other.

"Can you guys get off of each other for a second and come in?" You finally say, unable to keep the amusement from your features as you watch Oikawa try to steal a kiss from his now blushing boyfriend. Both boys stop for a moment and, before you can shut the door, they scramble in. 

"[Name]-chan!" Oikawa whines. "Iwa-chan won't kiss me!"

You roll your eyes. "Haven't the both of you kissed already?"

"No, because we haven't had a chance to be together in private!" Oikawa crosses his arms and sticks his tongue out at his boyfriend. "He's afraid of being seen!"

Iwaizumi grumbles. "It's because you turn every damn kiss into a makeout session on the _spot_ , Shittykawa," he retorts weakly, looking away. You chuckle and turn in the direction of your bedroom after setting your groceries down on the kitchen counter. 

"Well, I'm going to leave you two alone for a bit, so you can take your time making out before I get back." Before Oikawa can tackle Iwaizumi, you turn around to face the spiky-haired man in the eye. "But I don't want to see you two half-naked or commando on my couch when I come out."

You burst out laughing at Iwaizumi's face and Oikawa's whines before hurrying to your room.

You've missed them.

**\--**

You're all enjoying dinner at the dining table after a whole day of catching up and video games when the couple start to send each other odd looks. From the corner of your eye, Oikawa tilts his head towards you, followed by Iwaizumi mirroring his actions, but in a more insistent manner. Of course, Oikawa proceeds to shake his head, and you're fairly sure he's kicked Iwaizumi from under the table in an attempt to get him to do… Well, whatever it is he's supposed to be doing. 

Their non-verbal, borderline stupid conversation continues to play out in front of you, and they're too immersed in it to realize that you've stopped pretending to not notice and are staring at the both of them with no intention of hiding it. 

Finally, Iwaizumi sighs. The couple turns to meet your gaze, only to startle when they realize you're looking at them. Then they exchange a look with an emotion you can't quite place and Oikawa gestures once more in your direction, as though he's saying, _"go on."_

When their gazes meet yours again, the atmosphere takes a more serious turn and you have a feeling you already know what they're going to say. 

"[Name]—"

"Don't—" you begin, digging back into your meal as quickly as you can before you lose your appetite "—apologize or say what I think you're going to." You've already cried countless times this week. You don't want to cry now when you've successfully avoided bawling today. 

Oikawa begins to speak. "But—"

You look at them, fatigue suddenly crashing into you as your eyes flick between the two. "Guys," you begin. "I'm _tired._ Please just finish your dinner."

The couple deflates. Oikawa sinks back into his seat and Iwaizumi follows suit as the both of them finish the last of their meals. 

Ten minutes later, the three of you are huddled together(you're squeezed in between Oikawa and Iwaizumi) and watching anime on the television.

"Oh, right!" Oikawa exclaims suddenly when the three of you are in your living room and watching some show on the TV. "I got something for you when I was in Brazil. I already gave my gift to Iwa-chan, so, [Name]-chan, here's yours." He hands you a plain, brown paper bag that's heavier than you thought it might be. "You can open it now, if you'd like!" He continues, which is really just another less insistent way for him to say _"please open it now!"_

You only chuckle and do as told. The first thing you see is a stack of five polaroids—each depicting a different scenery. A vast, empty forest trail. An empty beach. A gorgeous sunset. The city at night with all its lights, the city during sunrise. It's breathtaking. 

"You can hang these up!" Oikawa chirps, grinning and huffing his chest in pride. "I'll be really sad if you don't, [Name]-chan, so _please_ hang them up!" He pouts in an attempt to win you over, but really, you're already sold.

Then you pull a small box out. Oikawa eagerly watches your reaction as you open it. 

It's your _birthstone_. It's a simple necklace made of silver with nothing but the gemstone to adorn it; it's a jagged shape with a smooth, rectangular upper surface that catches the light. You look up at the male, at a loss for words, before he grins and holds a similar necklace up, digging it out of his shirt before forcing Iwaizumi to follow suit. It's the same design for each gem, except that of course the stones are different. 

"We're matching now, [Name]-chan!" He smiles that carefree smile at you before gesturing once more to the box. "There're some local snacks and products for your face there that you probably can't find anywhere else in the world with that _natural feeling_ to them, [Name]-chan, so I hope you'll use them _all_!" His smile is somewhat threatening here and you have no doubts that he will check on you just to make sure you're doing as he says, so you muster nothing but a chuckle in response.

"Oh, right," you say, leaning against the couch. "I ran into Ushijima today." You don't mention your drunk fiasco, but keep your eye on Oikawa in an attempt to gauge his reaction. He's definitely matured, but in this aspect, you wonder just how much he's changed. 

He wrinkles his nose. "How did you run into the guy? One would think that would be difficult, considering his job," he replies, but makes no scathing insult, which surprises you a little. So he still dislikes him, but…?

"I mean, I was at the grocery store, getting those," you gesture to the now empty plastic bags you haven't bothered to throw away yet. "I don't know what he was doing around here, though. Maybe he lives here or something. How have _you_ not run into him?" The universe had funny ways of throwing things you didn't want thrown at you to your face. Oikawa had never been an exception. 

He shrugs in response. "I mean, I'd rather not run into him," he replies, rolling his eyes at the thought. "What, did you expect some highschool level reaction from me?" He turns to you with a smug expression at the thought of catching you red-handed.

In all honesty? You'd expected him to hiss and go on a borderline rant or something; his hatred for Ushijima had been a very prominent presence throughout his middle school to high school years and you'd thought the loathing he'd have for players like him or Kageyama would still be very much _there_ , but it seemed that that wasn't the case. 

"I still think he's terrible," he says, shrugging. "But Ushiwaka is just stinky like that. He's blunt as shit and sticks to logic like super glue. It can't be helped, can it? And besides—" Oikawa's hand closes into a fist and he smiles in a way that ignites a fire in his eyes. "—When I play him on the court, which I _will_ at one point, I'll _crush him_." 

You stare at him for a beat or two before you start to chuckle. Oikawa's first reaction is to look at you in confusion as Iwaizumi stares at you in surprise. "Oh, Oikawa," you say, fighting down laughter as you throw your arms around him in a hug that he returns hesitantly despite his flabbergasted state. "You're a big boy now!"

He pulls away almost immediately as Iwaizumi poorly stifles a snort of laughter, eyes blowing wide as the action itself causes him to choke on his own saliva as Oikawa pouts. " _[Name]-chan!_ " He cries in mock offense. "I've _always_ been a big boy!"

"But you're like…" You shake your head before smiling. "You're _comfortable_ with yourself now. You're not being petty with your fights or you're not drowning in angsty insecurities and self-loathing; you've _matured_." _And I'm so proud of you._

Your words give the brunette pause as Iwaizumi chuckles, roughly giving his boyfriend a noogie. "Hear that, Shittykawa?" He teases. "You're a _big boy_ now."

And the rest of the night is really filled with nothing but good-natured laughter. 

**\--**

It's near midnight when the boys depart, albeit reluctantly. Oikawa's stay will last a little more than a week, around ten days, and he clearly intends to use his time to the fullest. 

"See you around, [Name]-chan!" Oikawa says as he engulfs you in another hug. Iwaizumi ruffles your hair and bids goodbye, but before they walk out the door, the couple hesitates.

"[Name]-chan, I know you told us not to, but we couldn't leave without saying it," Oikawa finally says, turning back to you, his voice nothing but a whisper. Iwaizumi stands behind his boyfriend with an arm wrapped around the brunette's waist, and, even though you feel it coming, the dread still slams into you anew.

"We're sorry for what happened with Mitsuki," Iwaizumi intones. Both of the guys crush you into a hug and you don't know that you're crying until Oikawa gently wipes the tears from your cheeks with a thumb, his eyes soft. 

"You've done such a great job handling it," he murmurs before hugging you once more. "It'll be okay, yeah? You just need to hold out a little more." There are tears in his eyes, too. You were all in Seijoh. Though he and Iwaizumi weren't as close as you were to Mitsuki, you were good friends all the same. 

They leave a little after that.

Suddenly, the apartment is cold and you feel like it'll swallow you whole from how large it feels and so, _so—_

**_Alone._ **

**\--**

It's _three a.m._ and someone's giving you a fucking _phone call_. You'd _finally_ managed to stop bawling and chuck your phone away(along with your old messages with Mitsuki) an hour ago and now there's a fucking _phone call_ disrupting your sleep before you've even actually _gotten_ some of it. You have no idea who it is and you don't even bother to check who's calling when you answer it. 

But, of course, before you can get a word in edgewise, a jovial voice very much not suited for this hour pierces through the phone. _"Whoa! She answered, she answered!"_ It's a guy and he's talking in a sing-song voice. You're _one hundred_ percent sure that he's probably got a shit-eating grin on his face at this moment. 

"Who is this?" You croak out, groggy and irritated from your rude and sudden awakening, but whoever is on the other end doesn't seem to care. "How'd you get my number?"

_"Oh, right! You didn't give her your number, did you, Wakatoshi?"_

Your sleep-addled brain takes a second to register the person's words. You let out a yelp at the same time another voice rumbles, _"Tendou. What are you doing with my phone?"_

_"Oh! While you were in the bathroom, Semisemi asked me to call some random number on your phone, and we saw an unfamiliar name!"_

Isn't Ushijima's phone _locked_? Whoever these people are, they really must be close. Especially considering that they did that with _no permission to_. But judging from the athlete's tone, he doesn't mind. 

_"It's three in the morning. I'm fairly certain you woke her up."_

_"That's the fun part, Wakatoshi!"_

You stifle a groan; you're _this close_ to hanging up when there's a sound that you think is the phone being passed back to its owner before, again, that thunder-like voice reaches your ears, clearer than before. _"... Apologies."_

Silence.

_Seriously?_ You think, palming your face. _That's **it**_ _?_

You can hear "Tendou" laughing on the other side of the screen but can't be bothered, but before you can hang up on the phone, Ushijima speaks again. 

_"I suppose now I owe you for disrupting your sleep."_

_Haha._

**_What?_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow my tumblrs!  
> \- my primary is @amkxh, but I don't use it, but you just need to know that if you receive notifications from that account it's me HAHAH.  
> \- hero x villain/otp prompts: @crepisculum  
> \- haikyuu blog: @big-oya-energy


	4. ... Fuck. Me Too.

This… this _has_ to be a prank, right? There’s _no way_ you’d heard those words escape his lips on the other side of the screen—no _fucking_ way. The silence hangs between the both of you for an agonising second, and you pretend not to hear the hectic whispers on the other side of the screen. For some reason, you’ve never pegged Ushijima Wakatoshi as someone to mingle with people like _these_ ; wild, unrestrained, frivolous. Their paces, the flow of their rivers just… _don’t match_. Ushijima’s like a strong current; a river that stops for nobody and waits for none. One that never changes, never wavers. _That_ is Ushijima Wakatoshi to you: a steady river. A grounded rock. A source of gravity that pulls others to him. And yet, his friend—or, well, the one you’d heard earlier on—is nothing of the sort. 

“I’m sorry, uh,” you begin, rubbing a hand over your still groggy face as you try to gather your thoughts. “Could you repeat that?”

_“Tendou asked me to,”_ is the only thing he says back. 

_“Wakatoshi-kun!”_ The voice from before cries on the other side of the screen. _“You weren’t supposed to tell her that!”_ He continues as another male voice snickers loud enough for you to hear. To no one’s surprise, the athlete on the other side of the screen pays his companions little mind and remains silent, prompting you to speak.

The only problem, of course, being that you have absolutely _no fucking idea_ what you’re supposed to say. Your brain is slightly less… _addled_ , but you still can’t find it in you to think up a response. You don’t really want to wait till morning to discuss this either, because that’s just a whole different matter altogether. That would be asking for countless bouts of awkward silences before the both of you could come to a conclusion, if at all. Best to do it now when your rationality is at… well, _zero_. It’s bound to be more efficient _now_ than in the morning. 

“Fine,” you croak, rolling your eyes as you force yourself to sit up, resigned to the fact that tonight will probably be yet another sleepless night for you. In light of Mitsuki’s death, your sleep has slowly been deteriorating, and just when you think it might be getting better, this call comes in to ruin your momentary bliss. 

Well. _Some_ sleep is better than none, right? 

“How do you want to settle this?” You ask, tired eyes focusing on the ceiling for a brief moment, your hands playing with the blanket that half-covers your form. There’s more silence on the other end; if not for the constant whispering, you would have thought that he hung up or put you on hold or something. Light from the streetlamps outside filters through your windows, casting your room in a soft light. You could have sworn you’d closed the curtains, but then again, you’ve been too alone and absorbed in self-pity to bother with those pieces of cloth in the first place. Besides, the light isn’t unwelcome. 

_“Just ask her out or something!”_ Another voice cries, exasperated. It sounds like the same person who’d been chuckling at the antics of Ushijima and Tendou before. Somehow, it’s familiar, too, but you can’t quite place where you’ve heard his voice before. Also, again, you’re too fucking tired to give a shit.   
  


_“Semi-semi!”_ Tendou cries. _“You’re being too loud!”_

_“Don’t pretend you weren’t going to say that too, Satori. And how many times do I have to tell you to_ not _call me that?”_

_“Okay, but Wakatoshi-kun is a celebrity, too, you know? You of all people should know what will happen if the press finds out he’s going out with some woman, Semi-semi!”_ Though the words are said in a lilting manner, there’s a very clear undertone of caution. Unbeknownst to you, on the other side of the screen, Tendou is giving Semi one of his signature squinty-eyed looks. _“This would have been so much easier if none of you were famous!”_

And then it clicks. _Semi_. _Semi Eita_. The musician that’s been blowing up recently. 

_Seriously?_ You groan internally. Seven _billion_ people in this world, but of _course_ Fate decides to chuck the most troublesome lot of people at you. You’ve already got so much on your plate—why do you have to deal with this _now_ , of all times? If only you could wave your middle finger at Fate and tell them to _“come again next time”_ before they decide to start going ham on you. 

“Or we could just, you know, _forget it,_ ” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, effectively stopping their hushed(and pointless) discussion. “The most you could do right now is let me _sleep_.” Because you _totally_ don’t owe Ushijima Wakatoshi big time for possibly saving your life that night. A night you still don’t like to think about. 

The next voice that speaks is like thunder; the one that you’re _familiar_ with. _“I apologise for the trouble,”_ he says in a tone that sounds not the least bit apologetic, but at this point you’ve resigned to the fact that his tone and face have the emotional range of a brick wall. _“We will leave you be.”_

There’s a short pause. 

_“... goodnight, [Name].”_

You’re too shocked to respond in time, and when you do, the call’s already ended.

**\-----**

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a patient man. He is a man of habit, a man who lives life simply, and a man who adapts well to change even if he is not fond of it. 

_Ushijima is a patient man._

Sharp eyes focus on Tendou Satori as his hand falls to his side. Semi Eita shrinks backwards when Ushijima’s gaze goes to him, and before either of them can say a thing, he sighs. “Explain.”

Ushijima is a man of habit, but whenever he’s with these two, his habits break. Considering how Reon has been busy recently, it’s only natural that he be stuck with these two. Not that he hates them, but seriously, it’s _three a.m_. He’d told himself he’d sleep by eleven, but of _course_ he answered their call at midnight. 

Then again, he’s never really been able to be with them for awhile now, so to say he regrets having them over is an understatement. Ushijima knows he’s a hard man to catch, especially when he’s busy, so having them keep him company these past few days… well, considering how long it’s been since he’s spent this much time with them, their presence is hard to consider _unwelcome_. 

Tendou almost shits his pants. 

“It was Semisemi-kun!” Is the first thing that spills from his lips as he drags the male in question over so he can hide behind him, like the idol is some kind of human shield that he thinks he can use to save himself from Ushijima Wakatoshi. “He gave me the idea and dared me to! It’s his fault, it’s his fault!” Tendou’s voice is a trill, an underlying tone of mischief and laughter as he speaks. His lips are curled up, too. Semi only rolls his eyes in response. 

“ _You’re_ the one that wanted to look through Wakatoshi’s phone in the _first_ place!” He snaps, shoving Tendou away with another roll of his eyes, followed by an exasperated sigh. Even then, the exchange is lighthearted. None of them are really taking this situation seriously, and that includes Ushijima. “I didn’t think you’d actually _do_ it.”

“You underestimated me, then!”

“ _Clearly_.” Semi’s response is dry as he heaves yet another sigh. He drags his gaze up to meet Ushijima’s, who’d taken his seat while the two had been bickering. “So what are you gonna do? I’m pretty sure you—I mean, _we_ —” at this, he shoots Tendou a pointed glance “—pissed her off. It’s like, three a.m. after all. The least you could do is apologise or something. Like, _properly_. She sounded really tired.”

Ushijima tilts his head to the side ever-so-slightly as he contemplates his friend’s words before he replies flatly, “I already apologised. And it’s late—why _wouldn’t_ she be tired?”

Semi sighs. “Wakatoshi, I meant _in person_ or something, at least. I know you offered, but maybe you should try again or something? That kind of exhaustion… it’s not just from the late hour. She sounds like she’s dealing with shit, is all I’m saying.”

Tendou squints his eyes at Semi before a hum escapes his lips. A long finger taps against his own chin before he sidles closer, tilting his head downwards in an attempt to look Semi in the eye. Ushijima glances at the clock; it’s twenty minutes past three. Just how long do these two plan on staying awake? Though it’s nothing new for him, Ushijima would still very much prefer to have a healthy sleep schedule, both for his own sake and his job’s. That being said, as of yet, he’s just grateful that he doesn’t have anything planned for tomorrow—no, wait, _today_ —because otherwise, he’d be absolutely _fucked_. “How would _you_ know, Semisemi?” The lilting voice that speaks momentarily pulls Ushijima from his thoughts and, once again, he focuses on the duo. 

“It’s just, you know, a gut feeling.” On his seat, Semi shifts his weight. “The industry is tough, you know? It’s not the first time I’ve heard that kind of exhaustion from someone, even if it’s in a call. You learn to watch out for it. If she’d been my friend, I would have tried to get her to talk, but I don’t know her, so… it’s not my place to.” He glances over at Tendou, throws him a nasty look. “ _Don’t_ say—”

“ _Woow_ , Semisemi!” Tendou cuts him off, a grin painting his features as his eyes narrow smugly. “You’ve really got some _mother instincts_ on you, doncha?” 

Semi palms his face. “He fucking said it.” Ignoring Tendou’s laughter, Semi looks up once more to meet Ushijima’s gaze. Though he’s stayed silent during the whole exchange, he has been listening. He just doesn’t have anything to say; it’s not like he feels the need to talk in the first place anyway, so why bother? “So what are you going to do?”

Tendou cuts in this time. “Why don’t you _ask_ her what’s going on?” He suggests. “Like, you know, sometimes it’s easier for people to confide in strangers than people they actually know, ya know? It can be your apology!” He shoots finger guns at the athlete before clicking his tongue. “And maybe you’ll be able to start up some sweet, _juicy_ rumours that might finally take you off the list of _Japan’s Top Bachelors_ or something. The amount of women I have asking for your number everyday is astonishing, Wakatoshi-kun. I’m almost jealous, but I also don’t really want that kind of attention, so.” Tendou makes a face—oddly similar to the “weary” emoji. Either way, he goes silent, an indication that he’s said his piece and is waiting for someone else to fill the silence. 

Semi frowns. “But—”

“I hardly know her,” Ushijima says finally, leaning back in his seat, picking at the leather of the arm rest. He isn’t really all there—he’s mulling over Tendou’s words, considering his options. “And we all know I am not the type to offer comfort. I am the _last_ person people would turn to for such things.” Ushijima isn’t stupid. Sure, he’s insensitive, but he _has_ a brain. And it’s not like he’s insensitive on _purpose_. He just doesn’t have very good empathetic knowledge. And, more than anything, Ushijima is a _listener_. He lets the silence speak _for_ him, and even then, it’s rare for him to offer his shoulder. He lifts his hands from their place on the armrests of the couch and instead opts to stare at his palms in thought. “It would make us _both_ uncomfortable.”

Semi turns over to Tendou, triumphant in a sense. His expression has “ _I told you so_ ” written all over it as he puffs his chest to emphasise his point. Naturally, the red-headed male doesn’t give a shit before he goes off again. “Okay, then text over it!” 

“Tendou, are you trying to play matchmaker or something?”

“Hey, I just want to see Wakatoshi-kun live a little for once. Also— _someone_ needs to get the plot moving! The author’s too brain dead to figure out something else!”

“Tendou, what are you saying?”

“I wonder, I wonder!”

“Fine.” His words hold a tone of finality in them as Ushijima waves a hand dismissively to emphasise his point. “I will text her tomorrow.” 

Semi’s expression is almost comical—his mouth parts into an ‘o’ and Tendou pumps a fist into the air in triumph, that mischievous grin once again present in his eyes. “Let’s get this shitshow going!”

**——————**

You wake to several notifications, but among the wave of them that you scroll past, only one stands out to you. 

**I apologise for this morning.**

_What kind of blunt-ass reply is that?_ Then again, you’re not being the most reasonable person either. At least he actually bothered to do it by text, and even so, it isn’t entirely _his_ fault when his _friends_ were the ones who decided it was a good idea to call you up at like, _three a.m. in the **fucking** morning_. The text was sent at… six. Does the man not sleep or something? 

**It’s fine, Ushijima-san. Don’t worry about it.**

You set the phone down; you don’t expect any other texts from the aloof man. Though you can see why he has so many fans, looks-wise, you wonder if he would still have so many if his admirers got to hold an actual conversation with him. He’s blunt, he’s _almost_ tactless—but then you remember the way he came to your rescue the first time you’d met him, the calm way he spoke, the _warmth_ he radiated and the sense of utter _security_ he gave you. 

Okay. Maybe you can see why he’s liked. It probably isn’t just the way he looks—it’s the way he makes you feel _grounded_. He has a presence, a quiet confidence, that simply draws people in and leaves you breathless. You remember some of his interviews; even if he _had_ been somewhat blunt in all of them, you remember the way he gave things his full attention, the way he didn’t take things lightly, the way he apologised if he were to ever say something that might seem insensitive or rude. 

You’re certainly not his fan, but you can understand why he has them. Also, again, the man has a _body_ on him that you’re sure a lot of people wouldn’t mind staring at. 

When you’re done brushing your teeth, you again check your notifications for anything new. The blunt text catches you off-guard; you hadn’t expected a reply so soon. You open it. 

**Semi said you sounded exhausted. He told me to express concern for you.**

You take a deep breath. _Well, okay, [Name], at least he’s trying._

**Should you ever feel the need to talk, I am willing to listen.**

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips. _Seriously?_ You think. Who would have thought that you’d be texting _the_ Ushijima Wakatoshi, let alone be offered his shoulder to cry on, just because someone said you sounded exhausted? Though you know it probably isn’t the best to tell him about something so personal, the idea of telling someone you don’t really know, a practical stranger of your troubles, is oddly comforting, and oh-so-tempting. Your thumbs hover above the keyboard. 

**Thank you, Ushijima-san, but**

You pause. 

_He offered to listen._

_Yeah, but it’s personal, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable with—_

_Think about it._

You do. 

Well… getting an outside opinion, one from someone who knows absolutely nothing about you and your sorry ass… it wouldn’t hurt to spill a _bit_ , right?

You rapidly hit the backspace before you start typing anew, your heart leaping into your throat as you watch the words form. 

**I lost a close friend of mine. She killed herself.**

You bite your lips. 

**That day at the bar—I’d just gotten out of her funeral.**

Your heartbeat drums loud in your ears even as you press send, but even just mentioning Mitsuki makes you think back. You hate how it leaves you feeling all panicky and stressed and riddled with guilt and you have to clutch your chest, gasping for air. Your phone pings and you have to force yourself to look at the screen. 

**I am sorry to hear that.**

It seems void at first, but considering what little you know of Ushijima Wakatoshi, it feels somewhat more sincere than the other apologies you’ve received. He doesn’t elaborate any further on his subject, nor does he ask anything else of you. But he _does_ do what others have done. 

**If you feel the need to talk about it any more, I will listen.**

It’s almost funny; the thought of venting to someone you hardly know, who’s as blunt as a rock, who’s basically a celebrity. It’s weird, it’s comical, but even so, it makes you feel a little _warmer_. 

**Now I owe you double.** You send the text without thinking much of it; in fact, you curse yourself the moment it’s through. But you can’t delete it—he’s probably seen it already. Ushijima _does_ have a sense of humour, right? You desperately hope so, because if not, then things will… well, they’ll definitely get awkward. Your heart nearly leaps from your chest when you get his response, but even then, you can’t help but stare at the screen in muted surprise. 

**Good to know you’re keeping track.**

_What the **fuck**. _

So he _does_ have a sense of humour after all; granted, it’s a little dry, but it’s definitely _something_. 

**You can call me Ushijima.**

Ushijima Wakatoshi is a man of surprises. Somehow, you get the feeling that this is only the beginning. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did i really just use a shitty excuse to get the plot going? Yes. I lack of brain. Pls donate. I need it. 
> 
> Follow my tumblrs!  
> @big-oya-energy (haikyuu x reader blog)  
> @crepisculum (otp prompys, hero x villain)  
> @amkxh (you don’t have to follow this. This is just my primary blog so it’s the one that shows up in your notifications HHAHAHAH)


	5. Never The Right Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you cry again, but at starbucks, but you have a nice handkerchief this time and you're not ugly crying  
> also, that handkerchief? it's ushijima's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi ok look i know ive been gone so welcome to my long-overdue chapter SNIUDHDU

_Why did I agree to this?_

You’ve already asked yourself that same question about a million times over today. Your clutch at your purse with pursed lips, casting your gaze up top to look at the Starbucks logo and title printed in all caps on the sign. _Tell me why I agreed to this, me. Why the_ fuck _did I agree to this?_ You can’t stop questioning yourself, nor can you muster the courage to enter the cafe. Your grip tightens again; you look fine, right? Your hair is styled properly, your outfit is fine, it’s cute and it’s comfortable. There’s nothing wrong with how you look right now, but even so— _even so_ , your heart beats rapidly in your chest as you’re pinned in place. Hesitantly, you reach into the purse to check the time. You’re a little early—like, _twenty minutes_ early, to be exact. Again, the thought runs through your head. 

_Why the ever-loving_ fuck—you think, shoving your phone back into your pocket as you take a deep breath and square your shoulders— _did I agree to this again?_

Well. Might as well just get it over with, right? Mama didn’t raise no pussy, after all. You clutch your purse tight and march forward with a newfound determination, unable to stand your cowardice and nerves any longer. When you enter, the smell of coffee fills your nose, prompting you to take a deep breath to calm down. You chant the words in your head over and over like a mantra in an attempt to regain your composure and gather your wits. _I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine._

You walk over to the counter to place your order, trying to look like you _definitely_ aren’t the customer that’s been standing outside the cafe like a fucking _idiot_ for the past five minutes, looking like a madman as you question yourself. You swear you’re sane, but _man_ —why did you agree to this aga—

_Jesus fuckin’_ christ, you whine in your head. _I’ll be fine already, me. Now shut the fuck up!_

You take your food and turn around to look for a seat. Just as you find one, you look up. The door opens with a light chime and the staff open their mouths to shout a welcome, only to cut themselves off when their customer looks their way. He’s wearing a mask, of course, but even so, it’s difficult not to recognise him with that build of his, paired with harsh, olive-gold eyes. You’re practically sweating in your seat at this point. 

_It’ll be fine._

Ushijima sweeps his gaze around the cafe; thankfully it doesn’t seem like _everyone_ here recognises him, but there’s still a good handful. Nonetheless, he pays them no mind. His gaze locks on you and the intensity knocks the breath from your lungs, leaves you momentarily gasping for air even when he looks away. You gulp.

_This will all be just. Fine._

He takes a seat opposite to you shortly after. It turns out that the both of you have arrived earlier than intended. He smells like he’s freshly showered; even his hair seems extra fluffy. Silence hangs between the both of you for the briefest of moments before he breaks it, much to your surprise. “Have you waited long?” 

You perk up almost immediately, shaking your head. “No! No, I just got here, actually. You’re not eating anything?” Okay, it’s a lame question, but it’s better than nothing. Ushijima Wakatoshi is an enigma—you don’t quite know how you should act around him. He’s as expressive as a brick wall(built like one, too, but that comes as a surprise to a grand total of _no one_ ). You push the thought aside, trying to calm down. You can’t really wrap your head around the fact that you’re sitting in front of a world-class athlete and model—a whole-ass _celebrity_ who looks like a fucking sculpture or some Greek god. Bottom line is, this is a little daunting; this is the second time you’ve met him in person, face-to-face, while _sober_. A part of you wishes you weren’t, but also, you don’t think you’ll be able to handle that sort of embarrassment again.

It’s been a week since that wild phone call. Somewhere along the way, the both of you have reached texting terms—it’s not that Ushijima regularly contacts you, no, but his _friends_ —good lord, they’re another level of cupid and shameless(but you don’t know about the cupid part). You wonder why he lets his friends hijack his phone so often, or is it that he simply doesn’t know? It took a good four days before he noticed what the fuck was happening. 

But that’s not why you’re both meeting up like this. 

**_Ushijima-san, can we talk?_ ** _Three a.m. in the morning and you can’t fucking_ sleep _. At this point, you’re tempted to take a brick to the head so you can fall asleep for once without being woken up by dreams or your own thoughts. Late nights almost always equal more sentimental hours and a significant loss of rationality, so when you’re reminded of his offer to listen, well… your fingers are already typing out the message before you can think better of it._

_In all honesty, you’d expected no reply. But, no_ — _two and a half hours later, your phone buzzes and you hurry to check the notification._

**What of?**

_He doesn’t apologise for the late reply, but you guess it’s pointless in his book. So you get to typing._

**_Dunno. Couldn’t sleep._ **

_His reply comes a few moments later. You wonder if he’s busy._

**Why?**

Damn, he’s dry. 

**_Uh… dreams, I guess? + i guess i have a lot on my mind :’D_ **

**Oh.**

_Okay, well. His responses are well within your expectations. Even so, you can’t help but palm your face. Before you can text him an apology for (probably) bothering him and telling him nevermind, he sends another text._

**Would you like to talk about it?**

_Your fingers are typing out your thoughts before you can stop them._

**_They’re a little too much to talk about, tho…_ **

**_Is your offer to listen still up?_ **

**_I might take you up on it_ **

**Of course.**

**Would you rather speak to me in person?**

_Your sleep-deprived mind thinks,_ well, it’s definitely easier that way, right? I won’t have to type a whole-ass paragraph and I’ll be able to tell he’s paying attention and like, not half-assing it. 

**_Sure._ **

And that’s why you’re here and why he’s sitting in front of you. The barista calls your name, pulling you out of your reverie. You excuse yourself and hurry to take your drink, realising that Ushijima never answered your question. 

“I’ve a party of sorts to attend tonight,” he says when you sit, sharp eyes following your movement(since he doesn’t have any other places to look apart from his phone and the wall, and it’s only polite to look at the person you’re talking to). “I’m following a diet.” He breathes the last words out in a slightly annoyed tone(one you’re surprised you pick up on, or maybe it’s simply because he doesn’t bother to hide it). Somehow, it makes you chuckle, which prompts him to raise an eyebrow at you in inquiry. 

“Nothing, it’s just,” you begin, waving your hand dismissively. “You sound like you’re not very happy with that.”

“I’m not,” he agrees. He rises when the barista calls his name(or, well, a shorter version of it). He sits back down and takes a sip of his coffee before gently setting it on the table before he continues speaking. “It’ll be done in a few weeks.” 

_Model slash athlete, huh_ , you think, taking a bite out of your food. _Sounds tough._

At this point, you’re just delaying. 

“So?” Ushijima’s deep voice snaps you out of your thoughts. “I’m listening.” 

_Ah, fuck._ Now that your rationality is back, you’ve started to question yourself. _Why did I agree to this again?_

Ushijima’s gaze is expectant. He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. Also, he’s wearing a T-shirt. Your eyes catch onto the way his muscles flex, and—holy shit, his arms are _huge_. He’s a big boy. You flush and try to push the thoughts away. _Get your shit together_ , you think, but also, _how and why the fuck is he so hot?_

_This is fine. I’m fine. I’m totally fucking_ fine.

Where’s your self-control? Thirsting over someone(albeit a hunk of a man) that’s sitting _right in front of you_ ? Internally, you apologise to him. You _definitely_ need more sleep. The silence hangs between the both of you like a blanket; Ushijima says nothing as he waits for you, his head tilted ever-so-slightly to the side. You take a deep breath. 

_Might as well see this through._

“I, uh.” You grip the Starbucks cup in your hands, looking at anything but the man you’re spilling your heart to. You don’t even _know_ him that well, but maybe that’s why it’s that much easier for you to talk to him. It feels a little like you’re on a clean slate. Even so, this is awkward for you. You clear your throat and try to regain some of your composure. “I had a friend. Her name was Mitsuki.” You look up here; you’d expected some sort of bored expression, but that’s not what you get. Instead, you meet with a molten gaze of rapt attention. It’s almost intimidating. But you’ve started—the dam’s already too broken for you to stop the water from spilling forth. “She killed herself.”

Your breath comes a little uneven here. Thankfully, Ushijima says nothing. His posture shifts a bit; he leans forward in his seat, settling his elbows on the table as he fixes you with his gaze. When you look up, it’s a little softer than you expect. _He’s listening._ You feel grounded, somehow. Like you’re on Earth. Like you’re not spiraling and spiraling and reaching your hand out above the waves in an attempt to just fucking _breathe_ . You’ve known Ushijima has that aura around him, but you could never anticipate it would work like _this_ on you. You take a deep breath. “She was a really great girl, you know? She was super smart and she was popular, with the looks to boot. And she was one of the sweetest, kindest people I’d ever met. We’d been friends for a long time, but once we graduated, we just kind of… drifted apart. Or maybe it was just me. I don’t know.” You run a hand over your face. “And like, no one hated her. Outwardly, anyway. Her parents were divorced when she was young, and she lived with her dad for awhile before moving in with her mother, but… Anyway, bottom line is, you would have enjoyed talking to her.”

At this, Ushijima tilts his head to the side, as though he’s saying, _“would I?”_ Maybe there’s some sort of dry humour in the way he does it and the way he looks at you, but you chuckle nonetheless. It’s your feeble way of trying to keep yourself strong. “She texted me a lot, but, you know, I prioritised my studies and shit a lot. Whenever she wanted to talk, it was never the right time.” You take a sip from your drink shakily. It’s lukewarm by now. 

It’s agonising because the more you talk, the more you remember, and the more you remember, the more you _think_. You can’t stop fucking _thinking_ and it’s so overwhelming by now that not even Ushijima’s gravity can pull you back down from the dark clouds of your thoughts. Your breath comes short, your blood roars in your ears. _Make it stop._

“[Surname]?” 

That voice. It’s thunder. It’s warm caramel. It’s honey, sweet and sultry and smooth despite it’s flat delivery. It’s a voice that pulls you back into reality, _snatches_ you from your thoughts and your anxieties, a voice that makes your gaze snap upwards to meet with one of olive-gold. Ushijima’s expression hasn’t changed much, save for the slight crease of his eyebrows and the way he leans forward ever-so-slightly in concern. Then his eyes widen a fraction out of nowhere— _noticeably_ so. He hesitates, then reaches into the pocket of his pants to offer you a handkerchief. Mystified, you take it, and only when you see a damp spot appear on it do you realise you’re _crying_. 

Even though you’ve tried so hard to hold back. 

“Oh.” A finger comes to touch your cheeks; it’s wet. “... _oh._ ” You raise the handkerchief to your eyes, hurrying to wipe away your liquid sorrow. In your head, you curse. Your cheeks flush ever-so-slightly, and not from your crying. You’re embarrassed beyond belief and flustered now to boot, so you can’t help but avert your gaze. Ushijima doesn’t prod you any further, but he keeps his slightly awkward but concerned gaze on you. You rush to regain your composure, trying to fight down the embarrassed panic rising in your chest. 

“Take your time.” Though the words come out flat, you think there’s a slightly gentler undertone. Either way, you’re grateful for his patience and how calmly he handles you(though it could simply be because he’s got no experience in comforting people and is most likely not the most proficient).

You take a deep breath, gathering your thoughts, composure and what’s left of your fragile dignity. Ushijima keeps his gaze on you and leans back when he gathers that you’re totally fine. He tilts his head to the side and shakes his head no when you try to return his handkerchief(you’d deliberately refrained from blowing your nose into it, but then again, you hadn’t been outright sobbing so there wasn’t a need to). “Keep it.”

You know the surprised pikachu meme? Yeah, that’s you right now. “But—”

“But?” As always, his tone comes out flat, but it shuts you up nonetheless. Though his gaze remains indifferent, it compels you to sheepishly retract your hand. Awkwardly, you shift in your seat and clear your throat, only able to muster an almost inaudible “nothing”; a futile attempt at a response. But you tried. 

“... Sorry,” you say, forcing your gaze to meet with his. You have to resist the urge to look away again; the intensity in it is both terrifying and breathtaking at the same time. “I didn’t plan to cry. I probably made you uncomfortable.” 

Ever-so-bluntly(and without missing a beat), Ushijima replies, “You did.” 

_Would it kill this guy to—_

“But it’s fine. I thought you might.” Ushijima gestures at the handkerchief in your hand. At first, you’re confused, but when it clicks, you almost fall off your seat. You would have choked on your drink if you were drinking it. 

“You brought this for _me?_ ” The words leave your lips with an incredulous tone. Your voice raises a bit, but thankfully not loud enough to turn the heads of other customers. Your wide eyes flit between the handkerchief and Ushijima, who tilts his head to the side as though he doesn’t understand why you’re making such a fuss of it. Which. He doesn’t. 

“It was a precaution.” 

“ _Oh._ ”

His sentences are always super fucking short, but _man_ , do they always pack a punch. At this point, you might as well wave the white flag. You feel like you’ve lost a game you didn’t know you were even playing to begin with.

“Would you like to stop for now?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. “Don’t force yourself.”

You purse your lips, then shake your head as a sigh leaves your lips. “I might as well get it over with, right?” Your grip tightens around the handkerchief in your hands; you place your elbows on the table, your fingers playing with the fabric as you keep your eyes trained on the movement rather than the male in front of you. You’ve gathered most of your composure, at least, so maybe it’s alright to keep going. You take a deep breath before you start talking again. “She, uh. One day she asked if we could talk. You know, like those kinds of texts that normally tell you shit’s about to go down—that kind of text. But I was busy and my mind was everywhere or… something, I guess, and—god, it sounds like I’m making excuses, doesn’t it?” You bring a hand to your forehead. Okay, this is hard. Maybe you’re not as composed as you thought. Ushijima remains silent, of course, but you know you have his attention. And that he’s willing to wait until you’re feeling less scattered before you can continue. You don’t know why, but you just do. “Bottom line is, I ignored her. I _did_ ask her about it when I was feeling more like, mentally organised, but by then she’d told me “never mind”. And the thing is, this happened a _lot._ ” You swallow thickly. 

“Never the right time, huh.” 

Your eyes shoot up in surprise, but Ushijima says the words like they’re a fact rather than an excuse. You don’t know why, but something about that makes you feel a little better. A bitter chuckle leaves your lips and you shake your head, sighing. “Yeah. Sucks, huh? And then she just… she was gone.” 

Okay, fuck it, you’re crying again and you know it. The handkerchief comes up to dab at your eyes and you try to quell your tears and the sounds of your sobbing. Ushijima’s silence is… well. Somehow, it’s enough. It’s a lot better than pity or sympathy, you suppose. 

By the time you leave the cafe, well—it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that you feel like a weight’s left your shoulders. It’s not much, but it’s something. 

————————

**Bonus:**

“So?” The lilting voice tears Ushijima from his thoughtless reverie. Harsh eyes meet wide, curious ones, and Tendou tilts his head to the side. His signature smirk is present on his lips as he sidles up to Ushijima’s side. “How’d it go?” 

Ushijima’s questioning gaze meets his old-time friend’s and Tendou has to refrain from sighing. To his side, Semi’s stopped typing on his phone(though he pretends like he’s not paying attention, but _come on_ —he’s idly scrolling a _blank email_ he likely _should_ be writing). “You know! With that [Name]-chan! I wonder if she’s pretty. Do you think she’s pretty, Wakatoshi-kun?” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously, ignoring the way Semi sighs through his nose in an attempt to not roll his eyes. 

Realisation slowly creeps into the athlete’s eyes and he looks away; it’s almost annoying how his expression still doesn’t change. “It was alright. She looks pretty, I suppose.” 

If Semi was drinking, he’d have spit out his drink. Though it isn’t the first time Ushijima has praised someone’s looks(he says it like it is, after all), but for him to admit it must mean he either thinks highly of her(absurdly so), or that [Name] really _must_ be pretty. Tendou and Semi exchange an eager look, but of course they don’t say anything. 

“Has she texted you?” Tendou asks at the same time Ushijima’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Immediately, all eyes latch onto the device as the athlete pulls it out. There’s silence for a few moments more before Ushijima shrugs and turns to look at Tendou. 

“She has now.”

**Hey uh**

**Thanks for today**

Ushijima raises his hand and turns around quickly to avoid Tendou’s questing hands.

**Of course. It was no problem.**

He pauses for a moment before continuing. 

**Apologies.**

**I made you cry.**

_**OH NONONO** _

_**You didn’t** _

_**Don’t worry about that seriously** _

_**That was all me** _

_**Udhiuah** _

**Even so. I offered to meet.**

_**And I agreed to!!** _

_**Seriously, it’s fine, Ushijima-san** _

**I suppose I owe you now.**

**For making you cry.**

_**Jeez, you’re old-fashioned** _

**?**

_**NOTHING** _

_**I really won’t be able to convince you otherwise right** _

**No.**

_**Jesus okay** _

_**Fine** _

_**Then that means we’re 1:1 on the favours** _

**Yes.**

_**WeLL UH** _

_**Okay then** _

_**I’m going to dash now** _

_**See you when I see you, Ushijima-san** _

**Until then.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow my tumblr!!!!
> 
> @big-oya-energy (haikyuu x reader blog)  
> @amkxh shows up on your notifs


	6. Pretty Boys and Pretty Mouths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because they all mean trouble. Also, the dog's cute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI YES NEW CHAPTER I AM ALIVE   
> Me finally introducing Beom like:

Instead of heading home, you find yourself seated on a bench in the park. It’s not too late—last you checked, it was five in the evening, so you suppose it’s a little past that now. There are quite a few people wandering around the park; some are jogging with their earphones plugged in as they make their rounds, leaving you to admire their tenacity and athleticism, because you highly doubt that you’d be able to be as active as them. Others are walking; some are alone and some are families, friends or couples. Your eyes trail after a couple that slowly intertwines their hands as they walk, heads put close together. The girl laughs gently at something her boyfriend says, and his lips spread into a dopey, triumphant smile as his eyes soften. You tear your eyes away; you wonder if you were like that once. All your relationships started and ended in highschool, and though there were certainly sweet moments, none were particularly eventful. In the end, one of you would break it off, either because of studies or dwindling interest. Come university, and you’ve barely had any time to even think about dating. And, of course, this brings your attention to the various assignments you’ve yet to complete. You groan in exasperation at the reminder. 

“Ah— _Takepon_!” 

You have time to think, _what kind of name is_ Takepon? Before something small and white crashes into your leg. It’s puffy and round and, before you can properly process what it is, it runs behind your leg; its leash gets caught on your shoe and you step on it, effectively stopping the puppy from making any further advancements. It’s small, it’s cute, and it’s looking at you with two big, round and black eyes in a very innocent manner. Unable to stop yourself, you reach a hand forward to pet it. Naturally, Takepon accepts your hand in an all-too-excited manner that all dogs usually have. You can’t help yourself; you start to smile. 

A figure makes its way towards you out of the corner of your eye. You turn to meet, who you presume is, the owner of the dog that’s started to frantically lick your hand. He’s good-looking; his brown hair falls in waves, parted in the middle and falling before his eyes, though you notice the back of his head is styled into an undercut, leaving only his front hair to grow past his chin. His eyes, slanted, are two different colours; one is brown and another is almost pink. Delicate features set atop high cheekbones and a sharp jawline make you think he's _a pretty boy_ , and then, _he means trouble_ , because his thick lips are poised in a way that make him look like he’s always going to smile, giving him a mischievous sort of look. His skin is pale and he’s dressed in a loose-fitting white shirt that’s tucked into his jeans. “Takepon!” His voice, smooth but a little raspy, and not too deep, calls out to the dog, and, caught by its master, it can only shamelessly blunder forward. You take your foot off the leash so Takepon can run to its master, who’s kneeling on the floor. He ruffles the dog’s fur atop its head and grabs hold of the leash, standing up. When he looks up, you realise the abundance of piercings on his face. Two below his eyebrow, four on one ear, two on another, and two lip piercings—he’s pierced _everywhere_. It’s almost appalling, and you cringe at how much it must hurt to have so many holes made on your face. 

He smiles at you charmingly, his eyes turning into crescents as he straightens. “Sorry about that. Thanks for catching this little _rascal_.” At the word, he gestures with his chin at the dog now standing at his feet, its head swiveling back and forth in wonder. Despite knowing he’s probably just being polite and also up to no good, you can’t help but feel charmed by his smile. “Takepon likes to run around a lot. As you can see.” 

_He has a tongue piercing._

_Oh my god, [Name], get a grip, he’s probably younger than you._

Contrary to your expectations, the boy doesn’t move from his spot; instead, his expression is thoughtful. Then he opens his mouth again. “You alright, Miss? You’ve got some sick eye bags under your eyes.” His tone is mischievous, and a smirk tugs at his lips. Before you can bite out a response, he laughs, and the sound throws you off-guard; it’s elegant and the type that lightens your mood immediately. He waves a pale hand. “I’m kidding. It’s just a pity is all—though I suppose those eyebags do little to make you look any less prettier than you are.” He grins again, this one more secretively, like he’s exchanging an inside joke with you, before he winks. 

Indignantly, you open your mouth to retort. “Should you really be talking to me like that? How old are you, anyway? Do you like older girls or something, Smooth Guy?” Because he’s got a silver tongue that you have to force yourself to not be deceived by; his charisma and charm are almost overwhelming, and, paired with that brazen-but-not confidence, well, it’s a dangerous combination. He smiles at you in response. 

“I’m flexible, sweetheart.” _Sweetheart?_ He’s really pushing it. “What’s your name? I suppose you wouldn’t want me to keep calling you nicknames, right?” 

You hate how he’s hit the nail on the head. 

“I’m [Name],” you reply in spite of yourself, though you’d intended to ignore him completely. This guy’s aura is something else; it just _compels_ you to talk to him whether you want to or not. “What about you?”

The boy tilts his head to the side in thought for a moment before he responds. “... Beom. Just call me Beom, [Name]-san.” He easily switches from some flirt to a respectful younger generation; it’s a little astonishing, and again, you think, _this guy means trouble._

Without bothering to ask for your permission, he sits down next to you, casting his gaze skyward. He reaches down to settle Takepon between the both of you and, the little dog, emboldened by his allowance to sit on the bench, starts to nudge its nose against your hand, no doubt in search of your pets. Beom doesn’t seem to mind; instead, he leans back a little, his gaze cast skyward. “You a uni student, [Name]-san?” 

“Yeah. A few years in. You’re a highschool student, right? What school do you go to?” 

His smile is wild. You realise that’s how all his smiles are; wild and mischievous, like he’s plotting something, like he knows something about you that you don’t, like he’s a force to be reckoned with, and it’s screaming _be careful, be careful, be careful._ “Nohebi. I’m a second-year. I’m helping my cousin walk his dog.” He gestures at Takepon, who’s found a place on your lap and seems rather content with its position. His gaze meets yours again; his multicoloured eyes catch you off-guard, and the light makes them look _sharp_. Thoughtfully, he tilts his head to the side. “Did something good happen recently?”

The question catches you unawares. Your mind flashes first to your Starbucks meeting with Ushijima, but then you remember _why_ you’d gone there in the first place. Despite that, you find yourself answering, “... How did you know?” 

His smile is more secretive this time. “You can tell a lot about how a person is feeling by just looking at their eyes, [Name]-san. And their body language. You look like you just had a huge weight taken off your shoulders.” 

Mentally, you decide that it’s best not to get too close to this person, and not to get on their bad side. 

You purse your lips and look forward, avoiding his sharp gaze. “You could say that.” 

He smiles a smile that isn’t quite a smile and raises his hand, checking the time. “Well, whatever you’re going through, I hope it gets better for you. I suppose you’d owe whoever cheered you up a great deal, wouldn’t you?” Before you can respond, he lazily stands up, carefully reaching over to pick up Takepon so that he doesn’t accidentally touch you where he shouldn’t. He settles the little pomeranian on the ground and stretches; you realise that, despite his almost delicate frame, his limbs are long and lithe, like that of a dancer’s, or maybe a gymnast’s. He looks back at you; the sun’s golden light gives him an almost ethereal look and the corner of his lips curls into a smirk, making him look more like a fox spirit than anything. “I’ll see you when I see you, [Name]-san. Cheers.” He winks, then tugs at Takepon’s leash. Reluctantly, the dog follows his command, and you find that you’re speechless until his back has disappeared from your line of sight. 

_Pretty boys with pretty mouths are always dangerous,_ you think, before you stand up to take your leave. 

**\------**

“Ah! [Name]-chan!” 

The crisp voice prompts you to turn your head to look for its source. Oikawa appears in your line of sight and he grins his wide grin, bounding forward. Iwaizumi follows behind him, considerably less excited, though he smiles a small smile at you when he’s within talking range. What are the odds that you’d meet them at a convenience store, of all places? You’d decided to grab some sort of snack before heading back, but now it looks like you won’t be going back so soon.

Oikawa gives you a once-over, one hand on his hip, before he nods in approval. “You’re looking better!”

You don’t know whether you want to laugh or cry. Why is everyone telling you that after just _one_ talk with Ushijima? “I guess so?” 

“He’s right, though,” Iwaizumi comments offhandedly. “You don’t look like you want to crawl into a hole and die, and you also aren’t slouching as badly.”

“And you’re not constantly looking down!” Oikawa adds, grinning. He winks again, reminding you of Beom. _Pretty boys and their pretty mouths._

“So? What happened?” Oikawa nudges your side gently with his elbow, raising his eyebrows. Iwaizumi makes his way to your other side, and though he’s not prying, you’re fairly certain he’s just as curious. You sigh. 

“Hold your horses, Oikawa. Let me pay for my shit first, will you?” You relent, making your way to the counter. The cashier takes your proclaimed shit with the bored expression that typically accompanies all cashiers, but before you can pull out your wallet, Oikawa’s already paid for you, like the rich fucker that he is. He ignores your glower as he graciously accepts the plastic bag that holds both your and his and Iwaizumi’s shit in it. 

“Did you walk here?” Iwaizumi asks, to which you nod. “Got here from the park nearby.” 

“Why were you at the park? There’s no way you went there to exercise,” Oikawa says with poorly concealed amusement. Unfortunately, he’s right, and so, you can only nonchalantly throw him the middle finger. 

“I was at Starbucks. With, uh.” _How do I make it sound like it wasn’t a date?_ “I was meeting up with Ushijima. To, uh, talk. About something.” 

Oikawa chokes on nothing and Iwaizumi starts coughing on the spot. “Come again?” The brunette asks, his voice a little hoarse from the hacking just moments before. Then, “No, wait. _Why_ were you on a date with _Ushijima?_ Why _him?_ ”

“It wasn’t a date!” You say hastily, to which Oikawa raises a doubtful eyebrow and a very unconvinced _“sure”_ that makes you want to knock him out on the spot. You hurry to explain. “It’s just, um.” Right. You didn’t tell them about your drunk shenanigan, nor the fact that you were almost raped, _nor_ the fact that Ushijima was the one who’d stood up for you, or the events that followed after, or the IOUs, and, jeez, _everything else._ You purse your lips. “It’s a long story.” 

Oikawa fixes a very sceptical look on you, then says, in a deadpan, “We have time, don’t we, Iwa-chan?” 

Iwa-chan nods, not bothering to remind Oikawa that the brunette better not come crying to him for changing plans and not going to their promised date, because he’s just as curious as he is. And because he knows the brunette will find a way to make up for tonight. 

You suddenly lament that the walk back is not short. You breathe out through your nose and try to summarise the whole ordeal, starting from the night you’d gotten drunk up until the conversation at Starbucks today that had unexpectedly taken a great weight off of your shoulders. By the end of it, the three of you have reached your apartment, and as you’re fumbling for your keys, Iwaizumi breaks the silence first with a very flat, “... Wow.” 

Oikawa reacts a few moments too late. “What the fuck? _What the fuck_ ?” His expression is priceless with how incredulous and disbelieving it is. “ _He?_ For you? _Ushijima?_ No, no, wait, nevermind that—what kind of idiot lets his friends into his phone without thinking?”

Iwaizumi raises a bemused eyebrow. “We know both of each other’s phone and social media passwords.” 

“That’s different!” Oikawa cries, flushing unexpectedly, to your amusement. You raise an eyebrow, but don’t comment. 

“Anyway,” you bite out as you open the door. “I guess we’re sort of friends now? It’s weird. That’s the only way I can say it.”

“ _Friends_? Because of your IOUs?” Oikawa scoffs. “It sounds more like you guys are friends with benefits. If I didn’t know you or Ushiwaka, I would have _definitely_ thought that.”

Speechless, you can only stare. Then Iwaizumi smacks his boyfriend’s back, and Oikawa lets out a pitiful yelp. “ _Iwa-chan_!”

“You deserved that, Shittykawa.” 

“ _Hey!_ ”

Amidst their bickering, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips. 

The gloomy apartment feels less lonely, and it’s starting to feel more like home. Even when the both of them leave, the warmth lingers.

You sleep soundly that night. It’s the first time you don’t feel the urge to scroll through archived messages, the first time you don’t cry yourself to sleep. 

It’s the first time you feel that things are starting to look a little less dark. 

**\-----**

The next day, you take the bus to your university. The moment you step in, a voice exclaims, “It’s you!” After a very loud gasp that makes you appreciate the fact that the bus is filled mostly with either sleeping people or those with their headphones over their ears. You look up to meet wide, maroon eyes, paired with hair just as fiery that’s styled upwards as a finger points at you in astonishment, his mouth in the shape of an ‘o’. His excitement is palpable, and his raspy voice registers as something familiar to you, though you can’t quite place why or where you’ve heard this voice before. 

“Uh… can I help you?” 

“You’re that girl that Wakatoshi-kun met up with yesterday, right?” The red-haired male grins. “I’m Tendou. What are the odds that I’d run into you like _this_? Take a seat!”


End file.
